


Otis

by thecolourclear (afinch)



Series: Sing You To Sleep [1]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Coma, Post-Canon, Unreliable ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-19
Updated: 2007-01-19
Packaged: 2018-11-07 13:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afinch/pseuds/thecolourclear
Summary: Toby, caught between living and dying, asks for stories. Sam holds vigil while Molly and Huck cope in their own ways.





	Otis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raedbard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedbard/gifts).



He held Toby's hand gently, running his thumb in circles across Toby's frail hand. He looked so old, Sam thought. So terribly old. The accident had been sudden, as most accidents are; a drunk driver had slammed into Toby's compact after driving the wrong way down the freeway. While the driver had died, Toby managed to hang on, and only then just barely. 

"Come on Toby, you can pull through," Sam whispered, squeezing Toby's hand. "You're made of stronger stuff than most men I know. Uh, the doctor said to talk, said maybe you could hear. Your kids were here earlier, Molly cried, Huck regrets not going with you. Can you hear me? You have to make it through, Toby, you just have to." Silently, to himself, he whispered, "Please. For me."

_It was ethereal. Dream like in every way. "Where am I?" Toby asked._

_"Here." Something … himself? … replied._

_"How did I get here?"_

_"There was an accident."_

_Toby nodded. "I remember that … and nothing else. Where am I?"_

_"Here."_

_He could here Sam suddenly, though faintly. "My daughter cried?"_

_"Did you not hear her?"_

_"Am I going to die? I have to make it though … I have to be with Sam …"_

Sam was exhausted, spending every possible second with Toby. Toby hadn't responded at all, not even the movement of a finger. He was so white, so pale, so sick. He wasn't waking up and Sam didn't know what to say. So he started with stories.

"You remember when we went to Chicago? And the runway was frozen?"

_Toby smiled, "Yeah, and we waited in that airport for seven hours because you didn't want to get a hotel?"_

_"He can't hear you, I'm sorry."_

_"Shh! You're ruining the story."_

Sam's voice carried the story steadily, his voice never wavering as he told of the stubbornness of both men, how madly he knew they had been in love with each other, and the emptiness of all that swirling, white snow. 

"Sam?" came a gentle voice at the end, and for a moment, Sam started, thinking it could have been Toby. But it was only Molly. Sam offered a small smile, "Where's Huck?"

"Off with Ezra," Molly rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Sam, he's calling her his best friend now." 

Sam just shrugged, "Maybe they both need one, especially right now."

Molly didn't like this answer, she glared at Sam and slid next to him, taking her father's hand from him, "Hey dad."

_"Ezra?" Toby said, sounding confused. "David's little girl? His oldest?"_

_"The one and only."_

_"She never approved of Sam and me, you know, Molly," Toby said sadly._

_"Maybe she doesn't know how."_

_"Daughters are supposed to love their fathers –"_

_"Don't." The voice said sharply. "Do not for one minute question how much she loves you. She loves you more than the heavens and earth. She would give up all of that to tell you she loves you now, you know that. Don't. Not here. Not now."_

_"Did you ever love me?" Toby whispered to her. "Tell me a story of love."_

"He always liked you more," Molly said after a moment. Sam looked surprised.

"No, he always loved you." 

"But you didn't." It was a question, not an accusation.

Sam was confused, "Love who? Him? Or you?"

She smiled lightly, "I would have thought that a bit obvious."

"Come, Sam," she said after a moment. "Help me tell a story."

Days passed, and with them, the stories. Toby wasn't improving, Sam could see the colour slowly fading from his cheeks, his hand was still so frail. And he was still so silent.

_"Stories," Toby said, his voice stronger. "I want more stories. Sam, tell me stories."_

_"He can't hear you."_

_"I know. But tell him more stories. Tell him I want to see Huck. Tell him … tell him …"_

_"He knows," said the voice, softly._

Huck, lost, scared, terrified of losing his father, entered the room to find Sam sleeping. He hovered in the doorway, unsure of whether to move. He wanted his father to himself. He didn't want to hear stories of how his father and Sam were in love, or the stories of tender endearment. He just wanted to hold his father's hand, to say, "I love you", for he hadn't said it enough once Sam had become a larger part of all their lives. So he stood, quietly watching his pale, pale father lay there with the man he loved. When he could no longer take the hurt, he left.

_"Huck was here," Toby breathed. "Huck was here."_

"The first time I told you I loved you, do you remember?" Sam said, once he had woken. He missed the delicate footprints of Huck that Toby had so easily picked up. "I like you, but not enough to love you," He laughed. "Do you remember that, Toby?"

Only there was nothing. Toby had fallen silent.

And so Sam paced, wanting, worrying. Andrea had stopped by, but he had been too agitated to talk. Molly came, agitated him further, making sure he knew that Toby was her father, he was dying, and she got to be selfish about it. Huck's footprints slowly faded and the young man stayed far from the room. 

Until that night, when the nurse called them all in there, cramped like sardines in the small ICU room. Toby was waking. There were only two hands of his to hold; Molly squeezed her father's hand over her mothers. Huck stood, hands in his pockets, glaring from the end of the bed. His was allowed to be mad at his father, for no other reason than Huck was supposed to have been in the car as well.

Toby blinked once, smiled at Sam. Murmured something. 

Sam leaned forward, "Shh … Toby, just rest." 

"Do you remember …" Toby croaked.

"I told you stories," Sam whispered, his face wet with tears. "It's okay. I was just telling stories." 

Toby shook his head, "Do you remember … do you remember …"

_"Do you remember when we were happy?"_

**Author's Note:**

> For Raedbard, even if I didn't know it at the time.


End file.
